Insecure
by Ashplosion
Summary: Carly explores her personal feelings about her life while struggling to balance work, her relationship with Sam, and her feelings about her childhood. M for a very, very good reason.
1. Nightmare

**Author's notes:** The tense shifts are intentional. Basically, Carly still hasn't told Sam about the dreams. This was a little hard to write; I'm trying to focus more on the emotions than the smut.

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><p>These 3 am wake ups have to stop. I sat up, ran my fingers through my hair and sighed. I'd had another nightmare, and I was getting really sick of them. They always make me feel insecure, wounded even.<p>

This one had been no exception, but I'd had this one before. It had been a reoccurring dream that started sometime early on in our relationship. Let's see… we'd gotten together early senior year, and it had started during Christmas break that year. Now, six years later, I'm still having it. It's starting to really tick me off.

It always starts with me running through a forest. From there, I eventually find my way into a clearing where a woman who looked exactly like me was standing. About a third of the time I have this dream, Sam would be lying dead a few feet away. Fortunately, that was not the case this time. This time, though, the dream was more disturbing than it had even been before. The other me had walked up to me, and in Sam's voice, told me I was holding the key to something very evil. If I didn't give it to her, Sam would die. Then she kissed me.

I tried to push this shadow me away, but she was so much stronger than I am. I fell, and she was on me in an instant. "You want it, Carly." Her hand found its way down my pants, and she pushed her fingertips inside of me. I tried to push her off again, and she laughed. "You're not going anywhere. It'll only be worse if you struggle," she stated calmly.

I don't want to talk about the rest. It should be sufficient enough to say she had raped me—or I had raped me; I'm not really sure—and I'd woken up a sweating, gasping mess.

I turned to my girlfriend. "Sam?" The girl in question groaned softly and pulled the blanket over her head. "Sammy?" I shook her gently, and the mass beneath the cover shuffled a little bit.

"What?"

"Look at me… please?" The blanket descended slowly to reveal my sleepy girlfriend's eyes.

"What time is it?"

"Um… it's 3 am. I have a question." Sam sat up a little bit and eyed me strangely. Then again, had she woken me up at 3 am, I'd have done the same. Despite everything we'd been through, I had never done this before. I've never told Sam about my nightmares. I don't want her to worry the way I did over the monster-stealing-her-soup incident. I still haven't told her, but I guess eventually I will.

"Yes, Cupcake?" I shuffled uncomfortably.

"Will you…" I closed my eyes and took a steadying breath. "Will you make love to me?" She sat up, alarmed. "Please," I added, to reinforce the request.

She kissed me softly. "Carly, are you okay?" I nodded and wrapped my arms loosely around her waist. I wanted the stains of my dream-rape gone. I wanted Sam to cover me, touch me, make me feel complete. I know my reasons were completely selfish, but in that instant, I just really wanted Sam to screw me senseless.

Sam sighed and looked at me again. I'm sure it was clear that something was hiding behind my eyes, but she also knows I'll talk to her about it when I'm ready to do so. "Alright," she said quietly and kissed me again.

Sam pushed me down slowly and deepened the kiss. My hands found her hips; my mouth opened when the tip of her tongue slid against my bottom lip. She shifted to a more comfortable position on top of me, and her right hand cupped my cheek gently. She pulled away from the kiss and looked me in the eyes. "Are you okay enough for this, Carly?" I smiled.

"I love you, Sam." Seemingly satisfied, Sam kissed me again. This kiss stole my breath away. There was so much fire and passion behind it that I was metaphorically knocked off my feet. I moaned softly, and her left hand crept under my shirt. I could already feel that sharp pull in my stomach; my insecurity was already gone, completely forgotten in her hands and lips.

God, I love that woman.

"Sit up," she said quietly, and I did so. She stripped my shirt off me, and grinned when she found me braless. I tugged at her sports bra; Sam very rarely wore a shirt to bed anymore. She shook her head. "Cupcake… this is for you right now." I whined.

"I want to feel your skin, Sam." She smiled and tugged her bra off, leaving it to the darkness of our bedroom. She settled in back on me, and I groaned as her hair brushed over my newly-exposed skin. Her hands moved to my hips and she started grinding slowly against me. Her mouth moved from mine to my earlobe, and I squirmed a little bit when I felt her teeth scrape over it. Fingertips played from my hips down my thighs, and then back up again toward my sides. Her nails scraped down my ribs as she kissed her way down my throat. I closed my eyes.

"I love you," she whispered quietly against my collarbone. I threaded my fingers through her hair and smiled. My insecurity wasn't coming back at that point, and I was happier than I had been in a long time.

Her tongue set to work, creating a heated trail from my collarbone to my chest. She nuzzled gently and took a nipple into her mouth. I gasped and jerked slightly, but her hands moved back to my hips and pinned me down firmly. I opened my eyes and met hers, and she flashed me a wicked smile before nipping the hard nub between her teeth and soothing it with her tongue. Rogue fingers pulled nails up my left side and beneath my left breast, before Sam scratched her index fingernail down my sternum, ripping another unbidden moan from my throat. Finally, my temptress of a lover released my nipple and kissed my stomach as she moved her way down my body.

She gently pressed the pads of her thumbs into those sensitive spots on my hips, and I pushed into her again. "Impatient, Carls?"

"Only for you, Sammy." She smiled again and dipped her tongue into my navel. I gasped and somehow managed to grind out "please?"

"Only for you, Cupcake," she said with a laugh. Her fingertips slid under the waistband of my shorts and they disappeared. I wasn't thinking clearly enough to remember where they went. I do remember wondering how she'd gotten me so worked up so quickly.

I glanced back down to notice that she'd folded her arms over my stomach and propped her chin up. "You know you're beautiful, right?" I smiled.

"I love you, Sam. You're my everything." She grinned—I love that grin—and dipped her tongue lower against me. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against the pillow. Her fingertips brushed the inside of my thigh; my fingers tangled themselves in her hair. Her tongue was light against me, and she knows it drives me insane when she does that. Somehow, I managed to get a broken "please, Same, don't-" between ragged breaths.

One of the many reasons I love her is that she knows what I'm trying to say in any situation. I'm not sure how many other people would've interpreted that as "don't tease," but she did. I'm so grateful she did. Her tongue flickered against me again, harder, before she sucked my clit into her mouth.

It didn't take long.

After just a few minutes, I gasped out her name and pressed her head against me while sucking my bottom lip between my teeth and focusing on the white-hot sparks shooting through my veins. Sam hauled herself along my body and kissed me hard. I tried to kiss back, I really did, but I think I spent more time trembling against her than anything. She stretched out beside me after breaking the kiss, and I rolled over and draped an arm over her waist.

"Sleepy, Cupcake?" I yawned and nodded. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah… I just had a bad dream, Sam." She wrapped her arms around me and kissed the top of my head.

"It's okay, Babe. I'm always here for you." I smiled and kissed her lightly on the lips. Finally, I'd get the peaceful sleep I'd been missing for a while.

It's one of the many reasons I love her.


	2. Therapy

"Alright, Carly. As you know, I'm Dr. Burns. This session is designed so I can get an idea of why you're coming to therapy to begin with."

"I've been to therapy before. I'm only here now because my boss suggested it."

"That's fair enough. Am I to assume your job is on the line?"

"No, it's not like that. She's actually a close friend of me and Sam. I haven't been sleeping well, and I guess Sam told her what happened the other night."

"To clarify... is Sam your boyfriend?"

"Girlfriend, actually. We started dating our last year of high school."

"I see, and I apologize for presuming your heterosexuality. So tell me what happened the other night."

"I had a bad dream. It made me feel insecure. I woke up Sam and asked her to make love to me."

"What do you feel you gained by sexual activity?"

"It helped me forget about the dream. I was raped in the dream."

"Have you ever-"

"God, no. I don't know why the dream went like that. I mean, I've had similar dreams, but nothing like that ever happens. This was my first rape dream."

"How did Sam react?"

"I didn't tell her what the dream was about."

"How often do you have these dreams?"

"Two to three nights a week for six years."

"Tell me about your home life. You said you've done therapy before."

"Yeah, when my mom died. I was about 7. Dad is in the navy as a career officer, and Spencer was supposedly in law school, so I lived with my grandfather."

"Why did your grandfather send you to therapy?"

"I had what my last psychiatrist called selective mutism. I didn't speak a word from the day my mom died until the day I met Sam. When I wouldn't talk to the therapist, Grandad got fed up and sent me to live with Spencer."

"Spencer is...?"

"My older brother."

"Tell me about Sam."

"She's the missing piece of my soul. She's pushy and rude when I can't bring myself to be, and she protects me because it isn't in my nature to fight. She's very sweet and thoughtful, and if you look in the right places, loving. She's also very perceptive and does well with people. She's actually a grad student to do what you're doing with a focus on gay teens."

"Her identity within the LGBT community is important to her."

"Yeah."

"How do you identify?"

"I guess I'm probably bi with a strong preference for men. I have never been attracted to a woman other than Sam."

"You don't sound sure."

"Don't dare imply that Sam is just a phase. I will leave your office and not come back."

"I'm sorry, Carly. That wasn't my intention at all. I was simply observing your use of the words 'I guess' and 'probably.'"

"I don't think about it. She's Sam, and I love her. I've probably been in love with her for as long as I can remember, but I didn't admit it to myself until I was 17. It was just a little while before her 18th birthday."

"How old are you now?"

"I'll be 24 on July 24."

"That's only three weeks away. What is your current life situation?"

"Sam and I share a one-bedroom apartment close to Washington State. Um... We have a cat, even though I'm slightly allergic; her name is Elin. Sam's a grad student for psychology, and I have a bachelors in civil engineering. Sam works in a doctor's office part time, and I work for the city of Seattle."

"Is it fair to say you pay most of the bills?"

"Not really. I pay slightly more than Sam, but I'm also making double payments on my student loans and helping my brother out while he gets his degree so he can actually teach art. We live off the same amount of income, even though I make three times what she does."

"What does your sex life look like?"

"I'm sexually active but only with Sam, if that's what you're asking. Sam and I were virgins our first time, and we've both been faithful."

"How frequently are you intimate?"

"It depends on stress levels. Toward the end of undergrad, we went a couple of months at a time without it because we were too busy and tired for sex. After graduation, we had sex twice a day or more for three weeks."

"Who is usually the more dominant partner during your intimate encounters?"

"Sam. I'm too shy to take charge in bed."

"Has she ever done anything to cause you pain or fear?"

"Not without my consent. She either asks first or I ask her to do it."

"Can you describe some of the more violent acts without stepping out of your comfort zone?"

"I like it when she bites me hard enough to break skin. Sex for us isn't always violent, though. In fact, we're usually pretty tame."

"How often have you engaged in rougher sexual activity in the last two weeks?"

"The other night was the first time in three weeks, and it wasn't rough at all."

"I see. Carly, we are out of time. I would like to thank you for coming in. We'll start exploring some of the topics we touched on in more depth next week."


	3. Violence

**Author's notes:** To begin with, the sex in this chapter is nothing like the sex in chapter 1. It's not all sweet and loving. It's all Carly-anger-fueled (and hot). Notice that I changed the summary to reflect that. And I loved writing every fucking word of it. :D So yes, if rough sex is not for you, do not read this chapter. It isn't really integral to the story, but it will be referenced later.

dpp3530, I originally sat down with the intention of having Carly reveal the dream to Sam at the end so this fic would be a one shot. However, I decided halfway through writing it that Sam not knowing left potential for me to explore Carly's thought processes in depth and the idea of this being a one shot flew out the window. After a couple of weeks of frustration and not being able to work it out, I marked the fic as complete and uploaded it with the rest of the project scrapped. The idea for the therapy angle came after my own therapist suggested creatively writing about my own experience with therapy, and the second chapter was born. The second chapter gave me the fuel to outline the rest of the fic, which is part of my normal writing process—I very rarely write without an outline. As I started outlining, I was going to have the chapters be dialogue-only therapy sessions until the last chapter, where Carly and Sam save the day. This chapter—which was originally going to be a completely different one shot, by the way—changed my mind and I decided instead to intercut the therapy with daily life and random smut, because daily life and random smut happens between therapy sessions. Plus, I like random smut. And that is the history behind _Insecure _by Ashplosion. :)

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><p>I felt the air leave my lungs as I was slammed on to the mattress, and Sam's weight followed a moment after. Her tongue traced the outline of my ear, and her hands pinned mine firmly to my lower back. The cold metal of the cuffs dug into my skin, and Sam nipped my earlobe as she pulled away. "You're beautiful," she stated simply as her fingers chased a pattern over my left shoulder blade. I barely had a moment to register that tooth-shaped scars littered that area of skin before she scratched her nails along my spine.<p>

I moaned her name in response, and she answered by wrapping a blindfold neatly around my head. The pressure of the knot balanced perfectly at the base of my skull. "Don't say a word," she growled in a low, dark tone. I sucked my lip between my teeth and wondered what she was planning.

I'd been asking her for rough sex since the first time I saw Dr. Burns. I don't know why, but the man brought feelings to the surface I didn't want to deal with. Having Sam fuck me as hard as she dared has been one of my favorite coping mechanisms for years now. Seriously, how is sex with someone you love a bad thing? Finally, she'd acquiesced for my birthday. So here I am, 24 years old, naked, blindfolded, cuffed, and trembling beneath the love of my life. I'd asked her to take it further, and I could only hope that I could remember the safe word.

Wait, why hasn't Sam moved in the last three minu-

Oh my god.

An audible, aroused growl slipped past my lips as her teeth serrated though the skin covering my right shoulder. So much for wearing a tank top to my birthday party. She sucked hard and pulled back, probably waiting for the dark red liquid to surface. The anger in my blood thickened when I felt it start to trickle, but Sam didn't move. I shifted. "Sam, what the hell?"

My head was instantly snapped back, and I felt her fingers tighten around the knot in the blindfold. "Be a good little girl, Cupcake. You've been begging Mamma for weeks, so let Mamma make it worth it." She shoved me forward and set her tongue to work soothing the still-bleeding wound on my shoulder. I panted slightly as she climbed off me and grabbed my wrists. "Cupcake?"

"Mmm?" I almost didn't hear her, as I was focused on the delicious haze pain had draped over my senses. She hauled my wrists up and flipped me over, so that I was lying on my back. Once again, the room stilled.

I love being blindfolded, hurt, bitten, wounded in every way, but I can't stand it when Sam sits still. I always try to wait, but eventually, the insecurity and discomfort gnawing in the back of my brain causes me to push her to touch me again. That is, if my arousal doesn't take charge first. In this situation, it was the former. "God damn it, Sam. Don't stop."

A strong hand closed around my throat, and I almost panicked. I flailed the best I could against my restraints, but Sam didn't let go. I was quickly getting light headed, and my lungs shivered in my chest. Her grip tightened for a moment, and I briefly wondered what the hell was going on before the oxygen to my brain just wasn't enough for rational thought. "Happy birthday, Carly," she murmured quietly before pushing herself off my throat.

I sucked in a huge lungful of air as I wondered where Sam had learned THAT. We had never discussed it before, and I was taken completely by surprise. Still, the gesture was so possessive and controlling that I couldn't help but squirm and press my legs together as I listened to Sam move about our bedroom. Finally, as my senses returned to somewhat normal, I felt Sam climb onto our bed. My brain was rushing to keep up with the fact that I liked it, and it shocked me. She kissed me sweetly, settling her weight between my legs in the process. "Like that, Cupcake?"

"Uh huh." My breathing was still ragged. She pulled my bottom lip between her teeth and bit forcefully as she shoved into me. I wasn't even aware she'd been wearing the strap-on, but my cry was muffled against her mouth as she pinned me in a cruel, possessive kiss. The force of the thrust pushed the metal cuffs into my lower back and pinched my skin. I'm pretty sure I started bleeding on my lower back, too.

The blind anger shot through me again. I wanted Sam to mark me in every way possible as hers, to possess me with the full force of those fleeting glimpses, and quite frankly, make me forget my name.

The metallic tang of blood flooded my mouth. She pulled away and pushed into me harder still. I gasped softly as my head hit the headboard. She pulled out of me for a moment, and I squirmed. "Sam, please. I am bleeding in three places and almost..." I trailed off as she slammed into me again, thrusting with a hard and fast pace and kissing me passionately. White flooded my veins, and I...

I must've blacked out. Sam shook me, her bottom lip between her teeth. "Cupcake? C'mon Cupcake, wake up." I blinked slowly and sat up, and Sam smiled sadly. I wasn't sure where the blindfold went, although I later found it on the floor. "I'm sorry. I didn't think it was too much when I planned it..." I shook my head and licked my lips unsteadily as she removed the cuffs and handed me a glass of water. A damp washcloth sat on the night stand, and she used it to start attending to my wounds.

"God, Baby... that was amazing. I loved every second of it," I informed her hoarsely. Sam is so careful in the ways she hurts me. I have never once truly feared her, and I think the only reason she's even willing to hurt me is because she knows I want it. She has never harmed me, even accidentally, outside of the bedroom. I'm willing to let her hurt me because not only do I want her to, but I also trust her with my life. She understands my body's limits better than I do sometimes. She knows what sounds I make that are and aren't pleasure, she knows exactly when to stop, and she knows what constitutes just too far. I've actually made a few requests she refuses to fulfill because it's too far, too risky for her to even attempt.

She smiled and kissed me gently. "Let's take a nap. We still have four hours before the party." She nodded and tugged me toward her; we both seemed to be more snuggly when it was rough. "By the way," I rasped, "you're helping me find a shirt that will cover all this, because I am not wearing the tank I picked." We giggled and she kissed my nose as we drifted off to sleep.

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><p><strong>More author's notes: Holy fuck.<strong> I did not know I was capable of writing that. Please excuse me while I take a cold shower. Who would've guessed Carly Shay is a total freak in the sack? Yeah, yeah, I know, Sam would never hurt Carly. The thing is, just because two people are in love doesn't mean the sex has to be sweet all the time… right? Some of the best sex I've—wait, we are SO not going into my sex life. Cold shower. Like, now.


	4. Self-Hating

"Welcome back, Carly. Happy belated birthday, by the way."

"Hi, Dr. Burns. Thank you."

"How are you today?"

"I'm just tired. I don't think there's enough Peppy Cola on the planet to keep me awake through this session and the rest of my work day."

"I forgot that this is your lunch break. You're welcome to bring in food, by the way. How did you sleep last night?"

"Wonderfully, actually. Sam made my birthday special."

"How so?"

"I took the day off work, because she insisted. She woke me up to breakfast in bed. We took a shower, we made love, and then we took a nap. She got up sometime before I did and set up my birthday party."

"That sounds like a good day."

"Yeah. She tries so hard."

"How have your nightmares been?"

"A little more frequent. I haven't woken Sam up lately, but I've been waking up more. I'm also sweating a lot when I wake up."

"Hmm. Let's see if we can get a little closer to sorting this out for you. We're going to go over your goals for a moment. I've written in your case notes that your main goal is to figure out why you're having these nightmares and address the issue or issues at heart. You've described feelings of extreme insecurity of unknown origin at random intervals during the day. You've also stated that you have these insecure feelings after waking from these dreams, or in the rare occasion you're lucid during the dream. You are opposed to prescription sleep aids and group therapy."

"That sounds about right."

"I also have a list of topics we haven't really discussed. We've not gone into great detail about your life with Sam, your feelings regarding your sexual orientation, your mother, or your job. Is there a specific place you'd like to start?"

"I guess my job is this smallest can of worms to open there."

"You mentioned a major project that could make or break your career."

"Yeah. I can't really talk about it, due to my contract with the City of Seattle, but it's the first major project of my career and I'm very stressed about it."

"What's stressing you?"

"It's getting closer to the deadline, and the lawyers we hired to draw up certain contracts haven't delivered yet. We can't have the contractors start work without the contracts telling them what to do."

"I see. Tell me how you manage your time."

"Pretty much the same way I did in college. I keep track of everything in four different locations—my pearPhone, the iPear I was assigned at work, my pearBook, and pearCloud. I sync these at least once a day. I've got everything on my calander, and I focus on the most important thing I've got every day based on the priorities of what's going on."

"Looks like it's safe to say you're a fan of Pear, Inc, and you've got good time management skills."

"Yeah. I was in a Pear Users Group in college."

"I was a PUG myself, Carly. It's all in good fun. In any case, how does Sam feel about your busy schedule?"

"She's pretty busy too. She's almost done with her thesis."

"What's she writing about?"

"Gender norms in same-sex relationships."

"That sounds interesting. Do you and Sam have gender norms in your own relationship?"

"I'm a bit more girly than she is, but we don't really have the butch/femme parallelism that most couples like us do."

"Couples like us. What do you mean by that?"

"Same-sex couples consisting of two women."

"But not necessarily lesbian couples."

"Right. I don't think I'm a lesbian."

"Tell me about your relationships before you and Sam started dating."

"I had a string of boyfriends that never lasted long. I guess my longest-lasting relationship was probably with Griffen. We were together about three weeks."

"You and Sam have been together six years."

"Yes."

"What was Griffen like?"

"He was the bad boy type. He was super tough and really cute. He'd protect me when someone got nasty. He could be pretty pushy and rude, though."

"Why did the relationship end?"

"It was stupid, really, but I was sixteen and kind of shallow. I found out he collected Pee Wee Babies. I think Sam got jealous, too. She had this dream where Griffen was a monster and I was soup, and he was trying to steal her soup."

"You do realize that the language you used to describe Griffen was used to describe Sam in two of our last three sessions, right?"

"Really? No, I didn't."

"On the first page of case notes, I have that Sam is 'pushy and rude when you can't be,' and from our last session, you mentioned she was 'tough and cute.' You've also mentioned her protecting you on numerous occasions."

"Weird. I didn't notice that."

"Why did you date Griffen?"

"He was the bad boy type. I kind of have a thing for the bad boy type. Or the bad girl type, too, I guess."

"What about your other relationships?"

"There's not much to discuss. I dated a few guys in high school, but I didn't get very attached to any of them except for Griffen. I almost slept with him."

"As far as physical appearance goes, what do you usually look for in a male suitor?"

"I tend to prefer blonde hair and blue eyes. I generally like guys that are a little shorter than average, but I've dated guys with brown hair, brown eyes, and above average height."

"Yet your preference is blonds with blue eyes who are short."

"Yeah. Half my boyfriends were only an inch or two taller than me."

"What does Sam look like?"

"I… woah. She has blonde hair and blue eyes. She's also short, even shorter than me."

"Is it possible that most of your boyfriends were a substitute for Sam?"

"I… yeah. I think so. I've had strong feelings for Sam for as long as I can remember, but I didn't really know what they were until we were almost out of high school."

"When did you start to notice Sam was closer than a typical friend?"

"We've always been very close, but when we were 14, I had this weird dream about dancing. We used to do a webshow called iCarly, and we had spent all night watching dance clips for the show. In the dream, I walked around and called her name out three different times before calling for my brother or our other best friend. After that, I guess I started noticing her more. A little while later, we met this guy, Nevel, and she put her arm around me all defensively. I never really understood it until I realized I was in love with her. There was also this time we did the show from a haunted apartment and she quote-unquote accidentally groped my butt on the web."

"When did Sam come to terms with her sexuality?"

"Sam was a total closet case for a long time. Only her sister knew. Melanie got her a rainbow ring to try to push her out of the closet, but it didn't really work. I noticed it, but I wasn't sure if Sam knew it was a gay symbol or not."

"I see. When did you come to terms with your own feelings?"

"Sam called me up drunk and in tears one night and told me she was in love with me. I told her I needed time to process that. We didn't talk for three days. After reflecting on everything, I figured out that I love her too."

"I don't want you to take this the wrong way, Carly… but what do you think of reexploring your sexual orientation in light of what we figured out about your past boyfriends today?"

"It would make a lot of sense, I guess. If I really was only attracted to them because of Sam, I guess I really might be gay."

"We don't have to put a label on this. I just want you to think about it. You seem very uncomfortable with the idea of being a lesbian, and I'm wondering if that is where some of your insecurity is coming from."

"Yeah… that's good, I guess. Self-hating lesbian makes... sense."

"We'll touch on that more next week. I'd like to thank you for coming in today. Have a good week, Carly."

"Thanks, Dr. Burns."


	5. Officer

**A/N:** So, I usually try to keep stuff very canon. Well, as of the time of this writing, there is no canon information about Carly's mom. So, I'm making it up! And since most fics portray Carly's dad as an asshole/rapist/alcoholic/child molester/any number of wicked, horrible things, I think we'll go with fun Dad here. :D He's based on my dad!

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><p>Sam has never seen a picture of my mother. I only have one; Spencer gave it to me when I hit a rough patch as a teenager. It was his only picture, but he has memories of her. At least, that's what he keeps telling me. I do not remember my mother's name. I have exactly four memories of my mother: she once protected me from a large dog, one bizarre fairy tale she made up, and a song she used to sing, something about a stairway to the stars. The other memory is the scream that was torn from her throat as the car accident that took her life occurred—it was my name, as she threw her arm into the back seat to make sure I didn't fly out the window. It was then that part of Spencer's birthday present—a brand new pair of roller blades—slammed into the side of her head from the force of the car's stop. She had no idea the gift choice for her son would send her into coma, and ultimately, cost us all her life.<p>

I don't remember seeing it happen. I just remember her screaming.

My hands shook as I dialed the number for the first time in years. Colonel Steven Shay, United States Air Force.

"You've reached the voicemail of Colonel Steven Shay. Please leave a message, including your name and number, when prompted."

"Dad… It's Carly. I need you to call me when you can. I love you." I tossed my PearPhone across the bed and watched it plop onto Sam's pillow.

I've feared losing Sam for years. With all the trouble we've gotten into over the years, I've never been afraid for my personal safety… at least, not like most. My only fear regarding my own death is that I won't see Sam in an afterlife. I'm not particularly religious, though my father and Spencer are. I suppose that it is possible that God or Allah or whatever divinity anyone has ever believed in is the true way, but I doubt it. I'm agnostic—I don't know, nor do I care. I have no desire to ever be without the love, the intimacy, the respect that we share. That means in this life or another. I suppose in the end a tear is only water, a sigh is only air, and a person is only a person. But a person is only dust without a soul, and Sam is the other half to my soul.

I replaced the picture of Mom in my nightstand and lay down. I couldn't focus on anything. An hour or so later, my phone rang.

"Carly? Is everything okay?"

"I… tell me about Mom. I don't even know her name. I don't-" I choked. Dad sensed it and his usually-intense demeanor softened.

"It was Taylor. I guess you understand now why Spencer's middle name is Steven. It was your mom's idea to give you guys our first names as middle names." I made a face.

"Then why on earth is my first name Carlotta?" He chuckled.

"That was her idea too. Carly… I wasn't your mom's first love. Her first love was ripped away from her in the same way she was ripped away from us," he said quietly. I sensed he was trying to suppress tears. I didn't understand what the connection was. "God," he grumbled. "I didn't expect to have this conversation over phone."

"What's wrong, Dad?"

"Can this wait until my leave in a couple of weeks? Some things about your mother are better left said in person. And since I've been waiting on you to ask, I have some pictures, a few of her things to give to you as well." I shook my head.

"Wait, you'll be here in a couple of weeks?" He sighed.

"I wanted to surprise you, but you've cracked a tough nut, Kiddo. Can you keep it a secret from Spencer and your grandpa?" I nodded, thinking.

"No problem, Dad. Can I at least tell Sam?"

"Sure. I can't wait to meet her. I just wish your brother would find a girl that makes him as happy as Sam makes you. I also wish he'd just finish law school already." I bit my tongue. Better to let them have that argument. Dad always did want Spencer to prove our grandfather wrong and be a success.

"I guess it can. It's not a crisis or anything. I'm just having one of those days where…" I faltered, unable to come up with the words.

"Where you feel like something's missing, where you feel incomplete." He finished for me. I guess I forgot that Dad had a lot more time with Mom than I did, and he understood why I felt the way I did.

"Dad, I love you." He softened again; I loved the softness Da d always seemed to have when he was helping me through… pretty much anything. He and Spencer had been at odds for almost twenty years now, but he never took the cold tone with me that he could with Spencer. I could remember when I was struggling with math in the third grade, when he was stationed in Florida. He let the intense military officer drop away for a while and sat on the floor with me, at the coffee table, working on multiplication. He was still wearing his uniform. I think he'd walked in with his officer face on, unloaded and dismantled the sidearm, put it away in the top of the closet where Spencer and I couldn't reach it, and then sat down, empty tactical holster still on his thigh, and said in that deep, stern voice of his, "Alright! Multiplication!" We'd both giggled, and multiplication has been relatively easy for me ever since.

"I love you too, Carly. You and Spencer are my pride and joy in more ways than you could ever imagine." Tears stung my eyes. That was definitely my daddy. We hung up, and I drifted off into a nap.


	6. Bridges

**Author's Notes:** "What's the deal? I've been taking a nap for months!"

"I don't know, Carly. Why don't we continue where we left off?"

"Sounds good. Ashplosion finally got off her ass and updated. In other news, though, congratulate her and her partner on their engagement!"

"The author is now engaged?"

"Yep. Her and that off-again-on-again girlfriend of 8 years figured out they're really in love with each other and decided to permanently settle down."

Please enjoy this chapter. I know I take my time with this fic, but there is a reason behind it. I don't want this to be as rushed and—in some case, forced—as my others (see _Tag_ or _Jade, You're on Speaker Phone_) have been. I'm trying to explore a world that I feel usually gets touched on pretty shallowly in the iCarlyverse, so bear with me. I promise it'll be worth it.

* * *

><p>"My father is coming to visit next week, and I haven't even told Sam."<p>

"Is this a good or bad thing? You don't mention your father very often."

"I love Daddy. He's just… he wasn't as involved after I hit my teen years. The Air Force made some serious demands on his life, and occasionally Spencer and I fell to the way side. He's a good father; he really is. If I need him, he finds a way to be there. Right now, I feel like I need his support. I need to know about my mom. I need… guidance, I guess. Spencer's a great brother, but he's not a father-figure."

"You need guidance in what?"

"I need to know about my mom. I feel like that part of me has been missing for so long."

"You need someone who can help you fill the mother role you're missing as well."

"Daddy's the best person to do that. He knew her the best. I feel like there's something he's not telling me about her. He said some things were better left said in person."

"What do you think he's getting at?"

"I don't know. I guess she picked my name based off her first love. I'm gonna flip if he tells me she was married to some guy named Carl first. I didn't even know her name until he said it was Taylor. My middle name is Taylor."

"Why?"

"I always pictured this happy couple. I guess I wanted them to be high school sweethearts, the way Sam and I were."

"Would it bother you if you discovered your mother had been previously married?"

"I think it would. I don't know why."

"Can you elaborate on that?"

"I guess I want the same thing for me and Sam that Mom and Dad had. I feel like I'm afraid that if she was with Carl…"

"You're afraid you and Sam won't have as strong a relationship because your parents' relationship in your mind becomes a sham."

"Right. That was a lot deeper than I had it in my head."

"I've been working with young women in similar positions to yours for a long time, Carly."

"I guess so. If Carl is out there, though, I… guess I kinda want to meet him. Know why he was better than Dad."

"What if he's not?"

"What is Dad was Mom settling for not having Carl? I mean, I know I want to meet him, but Dad said he passed away."

"So meeting Carl is not an option."

"Right. Excuse me… I thought I turned my phone off and it's Sam."

"By all means, take the call."

"Hello… Honey? I'll be right there. Dr. Burns, I have to cut it short. Sam's vehicle broke down, and she needs a ride."

"Alright. I'll see you next week, Carly."

"Thank you."


	7. Shocked

**Author's notes: **DOUBLE UPDATE! AWWWWWWW YEAH! I've been writing chapter 7 for a month. And as for the end… well… YES. I JUST DID THAT TO YOU.

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><p>Running, ruining. Somewhere in the background, I heard music. Of course, trapped in a maze of mirrors, I wasn't sure I could find where it was coming from. I could've sworn up and down, though, Sam was singing my favorite Cuttlefish song.<p>

Mirrors began to crack. Music grew louder. The song changed; I didn't recognize it.

"She kept her beauty concealed behind a curtain of suspense…" Sam's voice grew darker, more distorted with each word. As the distortion of Sam's voice grew, so did the web-like cracks in the glass.

I paused. A breath. Run. Or be ruined. The faster I moved, the more overwhelmed my senses became.

"Run or be ruined, girl," an dark whisper murmured in my ear. This was by no means Sam's voice anymore. Then I felt them. The hands. The cold air as those fingers sliced through my clothes and began to pierce my chest, trailed down, down, down into what? Pain shot through me as the shadows slowly began to ruin my body. No. Not this, and not this time.

I hurled herself through the nearest mirror, shattering all the pieces, my fractured image, and most importantly, the shadows ruining my body. My body was Sam's to take, and only Sam's to take. This shadow, this sinister dream locked away in my head would not share the comfort and pleasure I find in my lover; the love she gives to me.

It was over. Or was it? I was nowhere. I was not running. There was no music, no mirrors. No senses. No input. From overwhelmed with input to overwhelmed with nothingness.

Where's the distortion? Was I still ruined?

A drop of sweat. A slow song begins. The sweat pools into something wide, something grand… a destroyed city. And I'm left looking down on ruins… that I once left behind? I've been here before. But they're still left untouched. Like they're there for me still to find. The ground starts to crumble.

And then the music is gone. I'm being shaken violently, roughly, and someone is calling my name. I open my eyes.

"Carly?! Breathe!" I suck in a lungful of air while Sam's blue eyes narrow in on mine and hand me my inhaler. I'm in my bedroom. It was a dream, I think. "What's wrong, Cupcake?" I cough and sputter and take a second hit from my inhaler.

"Nightmare," I manage to choke out before coughing again. Sam scoops me into her arms and cradles me. "It's okay Sammy." She smiles weakly, but we both jump as the alarm goes off.

"Why did you set the alarm for 4 am?"

"I have to pick someone up from the airport… Someone I want you to meet. I need you to stay here, though. I don't have enough room for all three of us in the truck."

"Damn it. Of course my car would shit out when you want me to meet someone." I rose and switched on my bedside lamp.

"Be patient for once, Babe. I promise it'll be worth it. I hope you like him. What do you want for breakfast? I just got paid, so we can have a nice breakfast with D-this guy."

"Is his name David?"

"No! Sam!"

"I want bacon."

"Of course you do. Skybucks is out."

"Monster Waffle?"

"Alright. Do you need money for the bus? It'll be a couple of hours before we can meet you there."

"I've got it covered." She grinned at me mischievously. "Are you sure you have to leave now?"

"I don't want to deal with the traffic!"

"So you're gonna wait God-knows-how-long on who-knows-who to have who-knows-what-flight-might-have-been-delayed land just to meet me at Monster Waffle with Mystery David?"

"Sam."

"I'm just saying… Sex is worth waiting in the traffic!" I raised an eyebrow, having missed where she was going with that. Well…

"Sex IS more fun…"

An hour later, I had to rush through retaking the shower I'd taken the night before while Sam scooped up some clothes for me. Cute jeans, a Cuttlefish t-shirt, sneakers and I don't even remember what accessories. Sam picked HER favorite outfit for me, probably marking her territory for "Mystery David-Doug-Don-Dylan," as Dad's name had become. At least it wasn't "Cat-Bob-Jade," as our friends in California had wound up referencing their cat. In the end, though, Jade usually called the cat either "it" or "stupid beast." I kind of missed hanging out with them; we needed another lesbian couple to chill with sometimes.

Sam was right—the sex was worth the traffic jam. My favorite Cuttlefish CD in the disk player made the drive much more tolerable. A dirty guitar riff ripped through the cab; I loved the system in that stupid truck. We bought it more because Sam wanted a truck, and in the end, I fell harder for it than she did.

It was always raining in Seattle. A cracked window let the cool air in; I love driving. The singer's voice swept high; the song changed. "Brake Lights" was my favorite song from this album. I tried to sing along, but the traffic demanded more of my attention than my voice. If I lost my job tomorrow and could spend the rest of my life driving in the rain with Sam, I wouldn't regret it.

The airport was packed, but Daddy was never hard to pick out. At 6'5" PLUS a uniform, one would be hard pressed to miss him. He scooped me up in that bear hug, and for the first time in a long time, I felt the nightmares in the shadows creep away. Sam was my protector and my rock, but my father was the aggressor, chasing all the evil out of the edges of my eyes.

"Daddy!"

"Carly Bear!" I almost cried. "What's the plan for today, Beautiful?"

"We're going to meet up with Sam for breakfast and then go home and set you up in the guest bedroom."

"Sounds great! I'm starved!"

Sam's eyes got huge when my father and I sat down at the table she had saved. "Sam. I would like you to meet my father. Daddy, this is my soulmate." Dad broke out into a massive grin and hugged her from across the table.

"I finally get to meet you after years of iCarly, letters full of your name and phone calls ending with 'Sam and I are gonna…'" He let her go and she picked up her drink.

"It's nice to meet you," she said shyly.

"Sam!" Blue eyes cut my way. "Be yourself." Dad's face fell as Sam sipped her chocolate milk.

"Young lady… when are you going to become my daughter-in-law already?"

It was priceless. Dad was covered in chocolate milk, Sam was apologizing frantically and trying to wipe him off with napkins, and I just laughed. I should've expected this of my father. The waitress definitely earned her tip during the meal.

After breakfast (or three plates of bacon and waffles for Sam), we settled back and Dad sipped his coffee. "You asked some difficult questions the other day, Kiddo. I guess you deserve to know more about your mom." I quickly filled Sam in on the call, and she grew serious. "Your name is Carlotta because your mother's first love was a young woman named Carlotta. Your mother was bisexual. I was actually supposed to be their sperm donor, not her husband."


	8. Assumptions

**A/N:** Not surprisingly, I've left you with a cliffhanger for months. Here's a bridge to the next actionable segment.

"You're telling me your father was supposed to be a sperm donor for your mother and her same-sex partner."

"Yes."

"A drunk driver murdered your mother's lover, and being the friend he is, your father stepped up to be the shoulder to cry on."

"Yes."

"Despite your mother's repeated advances, he would not allow himself to be seduced as a rebound."

"Yes."

"Carly, I am at a loss. I did not see this coming. Tell me what you remember about the accident."

"I… can't. I don't remember anything but her screaming. Later, I was told the roller blades we'd bought for Spencer's birthday hit her head just right, and her brain and spinal cord separated."

"How old were you?"

"Three or four. Spencer was in his later teens. When I imagine all of this, though, he's only like, seven."

"How do you feel about all this?"

"I don't know. I've always been afraid that my mother would've rejected my life with Sam the way her parents have. I didn't know any of this before. To think… I'm named after my mother's first lover. And Dad was okay with that?!"

"It sounds to me as though your father accepted his role in all this."

"How could he have possibly been okay with creating children and then taking no responsibility for us?!"

"Carly, you are making two assumptions here: The first is that there should be an issue. The second, is that he truly would've been okay with it. Let's explore each. Do you and Sam plan to have children?"

"I… don't know. I've never thought about it."

"My partner and I are the proud fathers of a young man who just graduated from Seattle's police academy. We had the help of a surrogate mother; we aren't sure which one of us he belongs to biologically because we combined our sperm in the cup we used during the good old turkey baster method. She provided the egg. How do you think she could've done that, especially given that having a child is much harder on her body than ejaculating into a cup is—wipe that blush off your face—for a man? I need you to think critically here."

"She wanted to help the two of you have a child. Why shouldn't gay people raise children? We're perfectly good people."

"She saw the value in us as fathers, and she wanted no children of her own. To this day, she still has not raised a child. When we discussed it with her, she asked us many of the questions you are posing."

"I don't know what to say."

"Just think. Why are you truly upset about this?"

"Because he's my father and he took responsibility for us anyway!"

"Which brings us to my second question. Do you think he would've been truly okay with it?"

"I don't know."

"Some can let go of that responsibility, some can't. It doesn't mean we're good or bad people, so long as the children wind up with loving families."

"So I'm angry at Daddy for no reason."

"You are angry at your father for no reason. Don't deflate on me and slouch now; we're almost done."

"I… think I need to talk to Daddy about Mom some more."

"I think that's a good idea."


	9. Tombstones

**A/N:** Surprise. Double update!

"Carly, Honey, it's a mess." Sam and Dad sat down next to me as my fingers wandered over Mom's tombstone. I couldn't bring myself to look to the left; I didn't want to see the confusion and inadequacy in Sam's eyes, and worse still, I didn't want to look in the direction of the grave of my mother's first lover.

"I never wanted to give up my children; we just never got to sign the known donor contract because Carla died first. The agreement basically said I got to be fun Uncle Steve with visitation rights similar to a non-custodial parent, when possible given my career." I nodded and squeezed Sam's hand.

"You were going to do it anyway."

"I knew they'd raise you and Spence to be good people. This world doesn't have enough of those, Honey." It took me a moment, but I finally stopped crying.

"Why have I never seen her grave?" Dad shook his head and sighed.

"I don't know. I couldn't relive losing her, I guess. Spencer came a few times in his late teens, but after that, he started having nightmares." Sam's head jerked.

"What kind of nightmares?"

"Weird ones that made him doubt his existence." I sighed and looked at Sam, finally. Her eyes told me all I needed to know; she knew about my own nightmares. My doubt of my existence, self-worth, worth to her, ability to love and be loved…

"You should've told me, Carly." She was trying to mask the hurt in her eyes, but I could see through it. I couldn't respond; I could only nod and fall into her arms, crying. "Dad… I wish I had known all of this. Carly's been having the same kind of dreams." My tall, military-hardened father rose; at that moment he looked like a shy boy. He leaned down and gently scooped me off my lover and looked me straight in the eyes as I curled into his chest.

"I'm going to introduce you to someone you may not want to meet, but I think you need to." I could only wish he wasn't taking me to her grave site as I felt us advance in that general direction. He'd pointed it out, but I dared not venture there yet.

"Daddy, don't…"

"Shh." With that, he placed my butt-first on the ground in front of her, grabbed Sam's hand, and led her back to the cemetery's main path. I was left alone to think, and ultimately, I just didn't want to. So instead, I spoke to the tombstone of a woman I didn't know existed before yesterday.


	10. Doubts

"Yeah, Dad says Spencer started having the same nightmares after he visited Mom's grave."

"Yet you had never visited before."

"Correct."

"How old was Spencer when he stopped visiting?"

"Dad didn't say anything other than a teenager."

"You're 24."

"Yes."

"Tell me more about what happened."

"I just… I lost it. I couldn't look at Sam. I didn't realize she knew so much about my dreams. She just looked… She looked like she felt inadequate. Like she hated herself for not being able to help me."

"It's often difficult to deal with an inability to help those we love. Especially when they won't let us."

"I feel like she shouldn't love me, like I don't deserve it. If I can't keep it together about my own existence, how can I love her the way she deserves? How can she love me back? I feel like I have no self-worth anymore!"

"Carly, please… sit back down."

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize I'd stood."

"And started pacing. Think about this… Why does the discovery of your mother's bisexuality make any difference to who you've grown into?"

"Because my father never intended to keep me! Things were rocky enough when Spencer and I were kids. He was never around! If my mother is gone, and my father didn't want me, who was I supposed to look up to? Who was I supposed to emulate… who was I supposed to grow into?"

"Carly, what makes you think you aren't the person you're supposed to be?"

"I have dreams that make me doubt my existence, Dr. Burns… I… I need to go."

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><p><strong>Author's notes:<strong> Sorry about the short update. I mostly wanted to get this rant out of the way so I could pick up with chapter 11. I figured no one would care, since no one's reviewed since chapter 7. ;)


	11. Breaking Point

I did not want to be here, but I could not bring myself to scream at my father. I knew what he was doing… He wanted me to understand. He wanted me to see what he had seen in my mother, in this young woman my mother had loved, that had led to his role in all of this.

Who the hell was I supposed to be, if I wasn't supposed to be his? Who would I have been if my mother had raised me with Carly? Would my name even be Carly?

If Carly hadn't died, would I even be here? How did I know that they didn't just want one child? Maybe Spencer was supposed to be their one and only child. Maybe they never had plans to have a daughter. I knew I was an unplanned pregnancy for my parents…for Steven and Taylor… but _what if_ just kept flooding to my mind, and I couldn't stand it anymore. I needed to know.

"Why?" The tombstone held no answers, but the wind changed slightly. It was like the woman I was named after was trying to answer, but she couldn't, trapped beneath six feet of cold dirt and a heavy casket. My fingertips traced the letters; they were almost foreign to me. I stared at them the way I had the strange characters I had encountered when I first decided Japanese would be my foreign language for my degree. Of course, I'd later learned to decipher it, but my brain just needed to catch up with the knowledge of what I was looking at.

It hadn't yet registered just what the letters said. _Carlotta Spencer_. Spencer. No wonder he'd gone through this as well. We were both named after a dead woman, a dead woman who was supposed to be our mother. The knowledge of what the character said clicked in my brain like that first time in Japanese class, but rather than the delight I'd encountered in that instant, I was filled with a sense of dread, of nausea, and of utter contempt.

"Who are you?!" I demanded, a little louder. Since my mother's death, I'd always held a certain reverence for the dead, but right now, I just could not bring myself to give a damn, to either one of these women. "Why the hell did you have to even exist, anyway?" I couldn't contain my venom. "Without you, I wouldn't be like this. I'd be who I was supposed to be. I'd be Steven and Taylor Shay's daughter, not… this," I finally spat, drained. I had been crying for the last four hours; I couldn't find it in myself to be externally angry and internally destroyed at the same time. I rose slowly and started pacing. My father stood guard on the main path to the cemetery; he was not letting me leave without confronting a dead woman.

Confronting a corpse was just wrong, on so many levels.

What would my life have been if I had been raised by them? The question kept resurfacing. What would it have been if my parents were truly high school sweethearts, like I'd thought they were? Would my mother have died? If my mother hadn't died, would my father have re-enlisted for a twenty year term? Would he have been as distant as he had been from her death until just a year ago? I spun around and thrust an accusing finger at the dead woman's tombstone. "Why won't you give me the answer, you bitch?!" I could feel the hysteria mounting within, but I couldn't be bothered to stop the flood. I needed to get answers, I needed to vent, I needed some kind of release. If taunting a dead woman gave me that break, that final, snapping release that I so needed to get this in my head the way it should be, and to _stop doubting my own fucking existence_, then so be it!

Wasn't a better knowledge of my mother what I'd always wanted?

Now that I was getting it, I wasn't so sure.

"Answer me!" Sam started to take a few steps toward me, but my father held her back, shaking his head. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but I knew it was important, because Sam froze next to him and wrapped her hands around his forearm. I ignored them and crouched down, my face mere inches from Carlotta Spencer's tombstone.

"Why?" I asked again, my voice barely more than a whisper. I couldn't stop the tears that sprang to my eyes unbidden. A sick sense of shame washed over me as I thought about my mother again, and I thought even more about what this woman had been to her.

Would my mother, the woman who had lived and breathed for her children, be ashamed of me for screaming and cursing the grave of her dead lover? Of a dead woman period, regardless of whom she had been?

Shame twisted itself deeper in my heart, and I fell to my knees, sobbing heavily. "I'm so sorry," I murmured, not sure if it was to my mother, to Carly, to Sam, or to me for my unfairness to them. "If things had been different… Maybe you would've been a wonderful mother. Maybe I would've loved you. I just… I can't help but despise you right now. And I'm so sorry and so ashamed for that. But know that one day I will not feel this way. One day, I'll know who you are."

She didn't answer. She couldn't answer.

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><p><strong>Author's notes:<strong> You guys have been waiting for some sort of confrontation of this for two years. Here's an unusually quick update, just for those of you that have been patient with me. Thank you for every hit, every review, and every PM I've gotten about this fic. I write this for me, but knowing that you guys are reading makes it that much sweeter.


	12. The Rest of Our Lives

**Author's notes:** Here's the chapter that's two-and-a-half years in the making. I'd like to present the last chapter of _Insecure_. I want to say thank you for everyone that has been patiently waiting, reviewing and rereading over the last two years. I had originally planned to split this up, but you know what? Life is too short, and my own therapy experience is coming to an end. This was a project to figure out my path in therapy and feelings about the process, and I think in the end, I've figured out my own message.

"I had never cried so hard in my life, but ultimately, I had a long talk with Carlotta Spencer."

"A long talk?"

"I told her my hopes, my fears, my dreams… Just a month or so before, Sam and I had discussed children after she finished grad school."

"I see. How does that relate, Carly?"

"I was terrified my children would grow up like I did… only instead of wondering where their mother was, would they wonder about their father?"

"That's logical."

"Well… the arrangement we have was inspired by what Daddy had with my moms."

"You consider them both to be your mothers."

"Yes… Carlotta Spencer was supposed to be my mother. After talking to her, I can't think of her as anything else. It's strange how a dead woman that I never met is now my mother."

"Elaborate?"

"Well… Dad told me about who she was, what she was like… She was a kind, generous woman. She was smart, driven, passionate. She was…actually a lot like Sam, and what I strive to be."

"You don't have to strive, Carly. You are."

"I know. It took me about six months before I could have that talk."

"I do recall. You spent six months ranting to me about how unfair life was."

"I'm blessed."

"That's a powerful statement."

"I have inspiration from sources I never imagined. I want to be the kind of mother she was supposed to be."

"You made peace with a lot really heavy stuff, Carly. I don't think that will ever be a problem for you."

"I know," Carly started with a smile as she stood. Dr. Burns followed suit. "I needed your guidance, and I needed her guidance. She's the reason we have the known donor agreement with Freddie."

"I must confess, I did not forsee that happening." Carly chuckled.

"I want my children to have all of their parents…biological and non. I don't want them to wake up in their mid-twenties and go through four years of therapy to be okay with someone who'd been dead for 25 years." Dr. Burns nodded thoughtfully. "Anyway… I want to thank you. Your guidance has meant a lot to me over the last four years." Dr. Burns smiled warmly as the young woman embraced him.

"Happy mother's day, Carly. Do you have plans?" The tilt to his head told her he already knew the answer.

"Yep. We're taking Taylor and Baby Shay-Puckett to visit my mothers. Did I show you the ultrasound picture?"

"He's going to be a wonderful young man someday. Now go. I think your girlfriend is in the waiting room."

Carly strode from the office with a sense of purpose, a soft smile on her face and a hand resting lightly on her stomach. Sam grinned when she caught side of her lover and nervously fingered the small ring box in her pocket. If anyone was to be the first to know about their engagement, it should definitely be Carly's mothers, she had concluded.

After all, her own long conversation with the tragically-passed young lovers told her life was just too short to not experience love.


End file.
